She handed over the packet of papers, and I was already busy flipping through them when I asked, “Did you actually read this contract? Or are you just going off the word of those shady ass people at your record label?”
I was surprised to hear her laugh at what I expected to be taken as an insult when she assured, “I read it myself. It’s legit.”
As I continued flipping through the pages, my quick glances found nothing out of the ordinary, though I also knew people trying to get over on you usually made things look ordinary as hell so that you wouldn’t notice any red flags. But once I made it to the last page and saw the signature already stamped onto the dotted line next to where I was also expected to sign, my stomach turned.
“I’m good,” I told her, practically stuffing the papers back into her hands.
But she didn’t accept them, pushing them back my way as she pleaded, “Just think about it. Please.”
“Zalayah, look. On some real shit, I’m flattered you went through all this trouble, but I’m really not trying to do this music thing like that,” I explained in the same way I had done the first time she asked, though this time the message came out a lot softer than before.
And I suppose since I had handled it gently, she responded with the same energy, her voice subdued when she replied, “I understand. But keep the contract just in case you do become interested. And here’s my assistant’s card, but I wrote my number on the back so you can get in touch right away if you somehow come to a new conclusion.”
I accepted the card she had extended my way, pinching it between my fingertips as I took a closer look at it; more importantly at the number she had scribbled onto the back. And while I was a little caught off-guard by how forthcoming she was being with her personal information, I couldn’t help but ask, “How you know I won’t sell this to the tabloids for a quick buck?”
Again, what I expected to make her at least flinch only earned a laugh. “I can always change my number, just like you can always change your mind,” she replied with a wink before heading for the door, giving it some customary knock that prompted the guy I recognized as her bodyguard to open it from the outside. Then I watched as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her out past the crowd of cell phones trying to snap a picture of her as she kept her head down.
It was honestly fascinating to watch how quickly the crowd scattered in the direction she had left, completely deserting my front door. But I still wasn’t quite alone as my brother reached over my shoulder for the card and shouted, “Let me get that!”
Instead of using the force I wanted to on him, I used it to slam the door, locking it as I told him, “I should sock your ass for letting her in in the first place.”
He smacked his teeth as he returned to the couch and picked up his controller. “You act like she was a Jehovah’s Witness or somethin’. And it wasn’t like I could just leave her out there. I mean, you saw how the neighborhood swarmed her ass once word got out that she was here of all places.”
While I knew he was right, I also knew the amount of people that had shown up wasn’t exactly my problem. In fact, I had problems of my own once I heard a knock on the door, recognizing it well enough to open it blindly even after the hysteria of Zalayah’s presence. But that was also what had prompted Shy’s visit as she snapped, “What the fuck was she doing around here? And coming into your place at that?”
I scrubbed a hand across the top of my head, blowing out a heavy breath. “Shy, what do you want?”
“I want to know why you have fuckin’ Zalayah coming in and out of your apartment like the shit is normal,” she replied with a roll of her neck as she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation.
An explanation I chose to fabricate when I told her, “She came to see Grayson. She saw him perform at The Black Market the other night and now she wants him on a track.”
The lie had rolled off my tongue so easily that I almost believed it myself, though it was clear Grayson didn’t approve as he shook his head in response. And luckily Shy wasn’t paying him any mind as she grumbled, “Yeah, that better be all she wants. You know her career should’ve been mine, right? She’s not even that good.”
I released another heavy breath, this time rubbing a hand against the back of my neck. “Know all about it, Shy. Now if you don’t need anything else, I’d like to finish getting dressed.”
Her eyes immediately lit up as she pulled her lip between her teeth, her whole mood appearing to change when she asked, “Can I come?”
“It’s a free country. You can do what you want,” I replied, though it really didn’t match how I felt on the inside. Truth be told, I was more interested in reviewing the contract Zalayah had left than fucking around with Shy. But when she slowly grazed her palm against my dick, easily bringing it to life, it was clear my thoughts were no longer in control of the situation.
The contract - Zalayah - would just have to wait.
Zalayah
I was exhausted.
Red-eye flight, morning talk show appearance, vocal lessons, return flight, dance rehearsal, and now the quarterly dinner meeting with the record label.
Yeah, I was definitely exhausted.
I honestly wasn’t sure why they still invited me to these things knowing how much I hated them, but I suppose it wouldn’t have been a good look for me to be absent without a real excuse. And even still, my mom had to drag me from the bed I had snuck in after my post-rehearsal shower to make sure that I attended.
As a hint towards my disinterest, I was purposely dressed down in distressed jeans and a t-shirt with everyone else dressed to the nines in their designer power suits and dresses. Well, everyone except for Gavin, also known as G. Griffey, the only other money-making artist in the room. He was a rapper who was new to the label, added to the roster as a result of my label buying his out. And while we hadn’t spoken much since the video we shot together a few years back as a rocky test run for my new image, it still felt great to have a young, familiar face in the room. Though it was clear the attention was all on me when Nigel, the CEO, asked, “So Zalayah, any idea when you’ll be ready to get back in the studio? A couple of producers have already sent me new tracks for you to check out.”
I used my fork to pick around the salad I had ordered, trying my best not to roll my eyes when I answered, “I have my own producer. I told you that before.”
Even if Gabriel hadn’t gotten back to me quite yet, or shown any true interest in the offer, there was no way I was going to get tied up in someone of the label’s choosing. Because regardless of the hit records we had made together in the past, there was no doubt in my mind that the producers they picked would subtly try to steer me away from the new sound I was going for through a little mixing and mastering. But Gabriel’s reluctance didn’t exactly help my cause when Nigel followed up by asking, “Well, where is he?”
“He’s still… reviewing that contract you gave me a few days ago. He said he’d... get back to me, us, soon,” I stammered, hoping my white lie would eventually turn into the truth.
And it was clear Nigel wasn’t exactly pleased with my answer as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin before he replied, “Well I sure hope ‘soon’ means in the next couple of days, Zalayah. That’s all we have before we really need to get going. Your album is already late as is.”
“It’ll be worth the wait. I promise,” I told him with the smile that usually managed to ease his tension. Though I wasn’t sure if it still held the same power as instead of acknowledging it with a smile of his own, he continued the conversation down the table.
“G. Griffey, what do you have coming up next? How’s little Griff?”
Gavin leaned back in his chair, his grin turning crooked when he replied, “The baby is great, Reagan is great, and the tour starts next Tuesday. They’re both coming with me.”
“Tour life isn’t really the place for a child, Gavin. Especially a baby,” one of the other execs quickly chimed
in.
And I watched in awe as G. Griffey only shrugged, staring the man down across the table as he stood his ground. “Like I said, they’re coming with me.”
I could tell the boldness had caught the man off-guard, his face turning beet red as he agreed, “O…. kay. So we have your tour, a Zalayah release this Spring…”
“Err… Summer.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, challenging me the same way he had done to Gavin.
But I suppose I was feeling inspired by my new labelmate, his actions giving me an extra boost of confidence when I clarified, “Summer. The release will more than likely be this Summer.”
There was a collective sigh around the table as Nigel smacked a hand against his forehead, clearly displeased with the news. But I was hardly bothered by his irritation, knowing if nothing else, the extra time would allow me to deliver an album I could actually be proud of; an album that would make him a whole lot of money if he played his cards right.
“Zalayah, your album was already done. And not only was it done, it was supposed to be a Winter release. We can’t continue wasting resources on you just for you to abuse them,” another exec added, earning a bunch of nods from the other money-hungry nerds who surrounded him.
In the past, I probably would’ve taken his comment to heart. But today, I had no problem putting him back in his place when I reminded him, “I haven’t wasted anything. I told you guys I didn’t want to do another pop bop album, yet you all took it upon yourselves to make me record that anyway. So if anything, you guys wasted resources you could’ve saved if you would’ve just listened to me in the first place. I found a producer, I found the exact vibe I want, and now it’s time for you to fall back and watch me work my magic.”
“Yeah, let little homie work her magic. She knows what she’s doing,” G. Griffey chimed in, his support surprising the hell out of me while also making me feel empowered in my stance. But once again, it was clear Nigel was done dealing with me until further notice, moving onto the next artist just as my phone vibrated against the table.
Since it wasn’t unusual for anyone to be on their phones during this particular meeting considering the music business never stopped, I checked it immediately to find a text notification from a number I didn’t have saved in my contacts. And once I unlocked it to actually read what whoever had sent, I felt myself panic a little as I read it a few times over.
“I’m ready for you.” - Unknown
The message was so vague, but that didn’t stop my heart from pounding as I tried to process its real meaning. There weren’t a lot of people who had my phone number. In fact, most people didn’t have my phone number, screened by my assistant long before they could even get to me. But since I had just recently given my number to someone in particular, my guess was that it was him.
But he was ready for me?
In what sense?
Was he ready to take the deal? Ready to get in the studio now that he had finally come to his senses about an offer he shouldn’t have refused in the first place? Or was he just ready to turn me down the same way he had done before?
Thinking about it so deeply didn’t make any sense since I hadn’t even confirmed who it was. And since there was no use in conducting a conversation without doing so, my response reflected that.
“Who is this?” - Z
I halfway listened as Nigel talked logistics with a new artist, Mallory, who I could assume would be taking my place on the pop realm. She was blonde, and pale, and… moldable. And she was young, reminding me a little of myself when I first made the move to the West Coast without anything more than a few songs that had hit the Top 200 charts. But at the time, I was determined, and hungry, and nothing was going to stand in the way of getting to the top, until I got there and realized it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Sure, I was making the money and had made quite a name for myself. But I wasn’t singing what I wanted to, I wasn’t dressing how I wanted to, I wasn’t expanding my brand in ways that I wanted to. And I wasn’t having fun anymore. What was supposed to be the time of my life had me dreading getting up in the morning, forced to plaster on a smile through it all.
Thankfully, that was all getting ready to change according to the latest text I had received.
“Who do you think it is? I’m ready to get in the studio. Let’s make a deal.” - Unknown
I smiled to myself, saving his number in my contacts. Then I did a quick scan of the table, finding all eyes still on Mallory before I sent another reply.
“Officially? Send me a pic of the signed contract. I’m meeting with the label right now.” - Z
While I was already giddy from his verbal commitment, I knew the business well enough to know if it wasn’t on paper then it held no real weight. Still, that didn’t stop Gabriel from assuming his little message was enough according to his latest response.
“Just take my word for now, superstar. I’m in. When we getting started?” - Gabriel
“As soon as you get me that contract back. So… tomorrow?” - Z
I could already hear my mother yelling at me for tinkering with our airtight schedule yet again. But I knew the sooner I could get in the studio with him, the sooner I could put some new music out which was truly more important than anything on the itinerary. And it was clear new music was even more of an urgent matter as I watched Mallory stand up from the table and clear her throat before belting her off-brand ass acapella version of Ariana Grande’s Side to Side.
My ears felt like they were bleeding as I directed my attention back to my phone to read Gabriel’s text.
“Yo, you serious? Just like that?” - Gabriel
“I mean, if you’re not too busy…” - Z
All the execs at the table applauded - wait, why are they applauding for that trash? - knocking me from my trance as I peeked over to find G. Griffey’s face just as twisted as mine. Clearly we were the only two level-headed people at the table. But instead of wasting my attention on them as they laid out the details for her recording and promotional schedule, I went back to my phone.
“Nah. Well I have to work until 5, but I’m free after that.” - Gabriel
“Great. You want me to send a car to pick you up?” - Z
I could pretty much assume Gabriel had a car of his own. But since I wanted to make sure I handled him the same way I would handle any other person I worked with, I knew that also meant extending him the same luxuries.
“Sure. Why not. I mean, you already hacked my address. The least you could do is use it the right way.” - Gabriel
His response was oozing with sarcasm, making me giggle as the dinner meeting was finally called to a close. I shook hands with all the relevant people before stopping by G. Griffey to give him a quick hug. And as I made my way to the car waiting for me with X and Kelly in tow, I stopped just short of the door to send Gabriel a final reply that would officially stamp my new beginning.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” – Z
&
Livid was an understatement.
I should’ve known better than to think of Gabriel as a true professional considering our interactions had been everything but. But I still didn’t think he’d be so inconsiderate to not even shoot me a text to let me know he’d be late to our first studio session, making the driver wait at his apartment for almost an hour before he decided he was ready. My schedule was tight, including the midnight workout I had planned with my trainer and the dance rehearsal I had scheduled with Amerie before dawn. But apparently that meant nothing to Gabriel as he strolled into the studio doors reeking of weed.
“He blew me off to get high?” I thought to myself while standing up to ask, “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour, and this studio time doesn’t pay for itself.”
He shrugged, adjusting the hood on his head as he continued past me towards the area designated for recording. I could tell he was already doing a mental study of the different equipment, running his fingertips alon
g the mixing board as he finally replied, “Some shit came up. But I already got a couple arrangements done in my head, so that should save us some time. Just gotta put ‘em on wax and let you do your thing.”
While I could appreciate that he had at least came a little prepared, that still wasn’t enough for my anger to subside. So I had no problem jabbing a finger his way when I scolded, “No shit is more important than this shit. And if you’re really gonna do this, I need you to get it right on all cylinders. That includes punctuality.”
“I got you, superstar. Won’t happen again,” he replied nonchalantly, digging in the middle pocket of his hoody to pull out his half-folded and slightly crumbled contract.
My face twisted as I watched him toss the papers on the table behind us like it was a stack of fast food napkins and not the ticket making all of this happen. But since there was only so much energy I could put towards arguing without overexerting myself, I said, “Good. Now let’s get to it.”
He immediately made himself comfortable in one of the rolling chairs, twisting and turning a bunch of different knobs on the control surface as if he had been in here a million times before sliding his chair closer to the MIDI Controller to begin constructing a beat with the virtual instruments. And I watched in awe as he effortlessly began to tap away at the different sounds, bobbing his head to the tempo he was creating before stopping to peek over his shoulder at me.
His fingertips were still resting on the keys, the few instruments he had already added to the baseline of the beat playing repeatedly in the background as he calmly stated, “I can’t work like this.”
“Like what?” I asked, his heavy gaze making me a little uncomfortable as I was reminded of just how fine he was now that I wasn’t as blinded by my anger. His matching hoody and sweatpants fit just enough to be considered athletic casual without looking as if he was really getting ready to go to the gym. And according to the hint of a hairline sticking out of the front of his hood and his freshly-lined facial hair, he had just recently made a trip to the barbershop.
Heated Harmonies Page 3
